


Sherlock Holmes Does Not Lag

by Chuffed4angst



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Chubby Sherlock, Fat Sherlock, M/M, Sherlock in Denial, Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-20 06:24:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3640107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chuffed4angst/pseuds/Chuffed4angst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock may have gained weight, but it has not has not slowed him down in the slightest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sherlock Holmes Does Not Lag

**Author's Note:**

> An adorable Fatlock bunny hopped by just now and I simply have to share. The bunny imagined a Johnlock future in which Sherlock’s addictive impulses long ago turned to food. Sherlock became happier and John adored happier, heavier Sherlock. Sherlock’s vanity was appeased by John’s open admiration and the exceptional tailoring of his suits.  
> All was well until Sherlock blew past 27 stone and his weight began to impede his mobility. Sherlock might have become fat and happy, but his girth would never impede his skills as the world's first and only consulting detective..  
> This is the first time anyone dared to call him on it.

Sat at his kitchen table, Sherlock bit into his thick plowman’s sandwich with particular relish. He was really quite pleased with his study of the whorls left by the bare feet of the culprit at a seaside kidnappings. The child had been rescued three days prior, but Sherlock was taking the opportunity to determine as many details as possible from this set of clues. One of Lestrade’s minions had just confirmed his latest deduction regarding a childhood spent on the coast of Wales.

He reviewed his notes as he set about demolishing his meal and washing it down with a pint of stout. He was only halfway through his steaming pile of chips when his phone rang. He was tempted to ignore it, but John had been banging on about improving his manners.

Caller I.D. showed it was Lestrade. On balance, he decided ignoring the call would be ruder than speaking with his mouth full of food. “‘Wuz ‘e p’ob’em?” he answered.

"Sherlock," Lestrade huffed. "Sorry to interrupt tea-"

"-ate lunch," Sherlock corrected then took a pull from his pint.

"Yes. Well, I’m glad you picked up. I’m at the scene of a grizzly triple death. Someone’s tampered with the scene so we’re having one hell of a time. I’m sure you’re… busy, but if I send you some photos, could you take a look?"

Sherlock sat straighter in interest and set his plate aside. ”Certainly, but…”

"What’s the problem, Sherlock?"

"I don’t… What aren’t you telling me? Why don’t you text me the address and ask me to the scene?"

"Ohh…" Lestrade sounded overly cheery. "No reason. Sounds as though you’re busy. I thought this would be easier for you."

"Easier?" Sherlock scoffed. "It’s not as though hailing a cab is particularly taxing."

"True enough," Lestrade hedged. "It’s just… we need to clear the scene and you’ve been, erm, lagging a bit lately.”

"Lagging?? Don’t be ridiculous! Text the address and I’ll meet you directly." Sherlock rang off, leaving no room for argument. "Lagging!" he snarled, heaving himself up. He tugged his pajama bottoms up over his rounded hips and pounded to his room to change.

Nine minutes later, Sherlock collapsed into a taxi and barked out his destination. _I do not lag, thank you very much_ , he thought smugly as he pulled his tie into a perfect knot.

If his heart was racing and he was at all short-winded, it was due entirely to his affront at Lestrade’s baseless characterization. He did not lag, and had certainly not exerted himself to disprove Lestrade’s error.

As his respiration settled, he looked down where his rounded belly blocked the view of a good half of his lap.  He’d obviously put on several stone these past few years. With his height, however, he carried it well. His weight was not an encumbrance.

He retucked his shirt and straightened his belt as he decided, _Lestrade is a dolt. There must be some other reason he didn’t want me at the scene.  Hm.  I’ll wager the Chief Superintendent is giving him grief again about relying on me too frequently._

Satisfied with his deduction, he fished into the carry bag from the pub and allowed himself to thoroughly enjoy the remainder of his chips and mulberry tart. He might have skipped the chips, but the tart was truly first rate.


End file.
